It is, of course, the third installment of the strangely popular movie series about a gang of East-Delhi simpletons who find themselves on bad-comic-book adventures.
but that’s more like an insane supervillain-origin-story cackle, like something the Joker would do after getting a smile carved into his face.
If aliens from outer space were to do a recce of this planet this weekend, Fukrey 3 (and a seat next to the Joker) might be the movie that sends them back with an adverse report on human intelligence and reverse Evolution.
At some point in a second half that features disinterested faces, the alleged comedy collapses into cheap poverty porn. It’s like the makers suddenly decide to parody social documentaries.
I am always wrong. Not in my wildest nightmare could I predict the lunacy of the anti-plot to follow. Also, would crocodile (and critic) tears turn this petrol into premium bio-diesel? If so, bring on Fukrey 4 and make me a reluctant millionaire